


Sharp Left Turn

by steelplatedhearts



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Poetry, richard siken pastiche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:58:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelplatedhearts/pseuds/steelplatedhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let’s say the devil is played by two men called James. They have devoured every other James, and are halfway to devouring each other. You can tell that they are not hungry—they’re just desperate for God’s approval. You don’t think she’ll ever really give them what they want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp Left Turn

_i_. There are two twins on stolen motorbikes but one is beyond the sharp left turn and one is just approaching it, depending on which twin you are in love with. Their physical similarities begin and end with their blond hair and broad shoulders, but you still can’t tell them apart. Both boys will say they want to put you back together, and one of them might even mean it, but at the end of the day you will still be in pieces. Keep a sharp eye on the left turn, and if you want to pick a side, consider choosing your own.

 

 _ii_. There are two twins on stolen motorbikes, but one has long since taken the turn. Let’s call them James. We don’t have to call them James—we could just as easily call them anything else, like Tiago, or Raoul, but we’ll stick with James for now. The one in front is older, supposedly wiser, and least favored in his family. The one behind is younger, reportedly more idealistic, and best beloved. You blink, and they switch places. Blink again, and they switch back. You can’t tell which James is yours, which one you should want.

 

 _iii_. James and James could have been great together. James and James and God, working together to save the world. It would have been a sight to behold. James and James could have been terrible together. James, James, and no God, biting and snapping and burning, gnawing at their tails until nothing of themselves is left. James and James will never have the chance to be great or terrible together, and you think that’s probably for the best.

 

 _iv_. You watch as James pulls off the road and waits for James, knuckles white, preparing for either a fight or a fuck. You don’t know which. You don’t think James knows which either. The other James hurtles down the road, face blank, and you want to call out to him to speed up, or maybe slow down. You want them to kill each other, or kill God, or walk off arm in arm, or maybe just part ways, you’re not sure. What you are sure of is that you want them to meet. You’re sick and tired of waiting around for them to get their shit together.

 

 _v_. Let’s say God is lonely, or maybe just bored, and wants to get some company for herself. She reaches down to earth and plucks two rats from the ground, only to find they’ve eaten their kin. What does she do with them? They’re hardly suitable company. She tells them she loves them, and lets them go.  
Let’s say the devil is played by two men called James. They have devoured every other James, and are halfway to devouring each other. You can tell that they are not hungry—they’re just desperate for God’s approval. You don’t think she’ll ever really give them what they want.

 

 _vi_. You are playing hide and seek with three men named James. Two of them you know, and one you don’t. The one you don’t know isn’t as desperately hungry for approval as the other two, and doesn’t have blond hair and broad shoulders, but he’s still indistinguishable from James and the other James. It’s something in his eyes, you think. He’s just the same, down at the core, even if his methods are different. He’s got a GPS, and he’s using it to track the movements of the other two. James and James say that it’s cheating, but James says it’s just leveling the playing field. You don’t know what to think.

 

 _vii_. You are playing hide and seek with three men named James. One is hiding, one is seeking, and one is guiding them together. You don’t know what happens when they find each other, but somehow, you don’t think it’s going to be good. _Phone’s for you_ , James says. It’s the voice of God, but you can’t talk right now, a James is running his fingers up your leg. _Please let it be the right one_ , you think, carefully not thinking about the fact that you don’t know which the right one would be.

 

 _viii_. Two brothers are fighting by the side of the road. It’s a dirty fight, up close and personal, and it’s impossible to tell who to root for. You’re watching them from the top of the cliff they’ve put you on, and quite frankly, you’re bored. It doesn’t matter who wins, because one James is rather like the next, and either way you’re still stuck on the cliff. They both care for you about equally—which is to say, not that much. You turn away from the fight and peer over the edge of the cliff. It’s not so far, really. You could climb down.

 

 _ix_. You are on a deserted island, but not the fun kind with colorful drinks and sun to bask in. This is an ancient, grey island, with monuments raised to things long gone. You pour yourself a colorful drink and sit on a sun-drenched piece of rubble, but it isn’t the same. Your stomach is still in knots, your hands gripping the glass too tightly. There is music, and you can’t tell where it’s coming from or what the lyrics mean. It makes the hair on your neck stand on end. You do not like it here. You’ve never liked places with no means of escape. 

 

 _x_. There’s a boat in the harbor, and nobody is watching it—there isn’t a single James anywhere in sight. You can hardly believe it, and you dart for the boat. But you stop long before you reach it, pulling yourself up short. What use are you without a James? James can have a story without you, but you can’t have a story without him. What would you do without a James? Where would you go? _Get on the boat_ , you tell yourself. _Get on the fucking boat._

 

 _xi_. Suppose for a moment the dragon has two heads—you know by now what to call them. There are two kinds of dragons: one will fly up to eat the princess in the tower, and one will save her. You don’t know which dragon you’re going to get until it arrives, and even then, you may have to cross your fingers and hope.  
Suppose for a moment you’re staring out the window, scanning the horizon for scaly wings or a hint of fire. _Please don’t come today_ , you say in a silent prayer to a God who’s probably not listening. _Not today. My hair’s almost long enough now._

 

 _xii_. Consider the sharp left turn. Every James thinks it’s something that can be avoided, that doesn’t apply to them. They’re special, they think. They’re the favorite. You have enough distance to see that God loves her children about equally—that is to say, not that much. The sharp left turn is waiting for James, and you’re not going to call out and tell him to avoid it. For one, he couldn’t avoid it even if he wanted to. For two, he wouldn’t call to you. He’s ostensibly the “good” James, but he wouldn’t call out. How’s that for a hero?

 

 _xiii_. Let’s pretend that James and James honestly love you. Let’s say they go and fight for God each day and return home to you, scaling the cliff face to kiss your neck. Let’s pretend that James and James honestly love you, and honestly love each other, and the dragon that comes to your window wants nothing but the best for you. But if James and James loved you, you wouldn’t be on a cliff, and the dragon would know that what’s best for you is to be left alone.

 

 _xiv_. When you wake up in the morning, you can pretend you’re on vacation. You slip downstairs and let yourself into the kitchen. You find a tin of caviar and a large assortment of cereals, just waiting to be consumed. You settle on bacon and eggs, and you take the meal and a cup of coffee out to the terrace. You watch the sun sparkle off the water, and for one shining moment, you are happy.  
James enters the terrace, whistling, and he ruffles your hair and steals your coffee. This is not a vacation, no matter how much you wish it.

 

 _xv_. James and James are splitting you in half, tearing you down the middle, like the judgment of Solomon. They believe they own you. They dress you in red, like the blood that spills from their fingertips because they only know how to love things that are broken and bleeding out. It is comforting to them, to own and pretend to love a scarlet woman. You adjust your dress, crimson fabric falling to your knees, and think _this would look lovely in blue_.

 

 _xvi_. You and James are making out in a casino. The drinks are expensive, but you’re not paying for them, so you order as many as you can manage. James pulls back, raising his glass for a toast. It’s the hand of judgment and of mercy, all in one. _Someone usually dies_ , he says, and you recoil as his face flickers into something more familiar. _You’re the wrong James_ , you whisper. _No,_ he says, _I’m the right one._ You want to believe him, but you don’t know if you can. Ask him about the left turn.

 

 _xvii_. The stolen motorbikes are neck and neck, and someone’s taken you off the cliff and handed you a checkered flag. You read somewhere that a high percentage of the girls that wave the checkered flags get run over. You grind the flag in the dirt and hold your head high, staring down James and James. They are intently focused on each other, and don’t notice you. Which James will kill you?  
Imagine a castle, grey and stone and sad. It’s a pleasant place, if a bit melancholy, until you smell gas and realize a James lived here once. _Don’t move_ , a voice says, and you grind your teeth and obey.

 

 _xviii_. Two brothers: both say they love you. Both want to piece you back together. Neither of them will. You have to pick a side now. You want a third option? Too bad, you don’t get one. James gets a third option, not you. James or James? Who do you want? You don’t want either of them. You just wanted to be safe and loved. Well, sorry, not even James gets that. Pick one. Pick one. _Pick one._

 

 _xix_. Here are the names, and here are the things left behind: a Beretta. A beautiful dress only worn once. A sense of optimism long since misplaced. Spilled champagne, spilled scotch, spilled blood. Spilled trust. Here are the things you want back: easy breathing. Comfortable shoes. A sky blue scarf. Here is the list of all your names, James. There are thousands of them, running off the page, but if we’re being honest, James is the only name that matters.

 

 _xx_. There are two twins on stolen motorbikes, but they’re not on motorbikes, they’re in a chapel. Imagine you’re in the chapel too, looking up at the saints. What are you still doing there? Get out! Let’s say they’re not brothers anymore, they’re just one James, and he’s talking to you, but you can’t understand him and you don’t trust him. Why are you still there? The saints are not going to help you. Get out of London. There’s a rumor going around that there isn’t a single James in the whole of Paris. Maybe try there.

 

 _xxi_. James will not come back from the dead for you, but he might come back for some other reason. Hold your breath. Don’t make a sound. Think about what you used to dream of. It was art, wasn’t it? A canvas covered in shades of blue. Don’t talk. Don’t attract James’ attention. Just follow the sapphire lights and maybe you’ll be okay.

 

 _xxii_. Someone made all of the decisions for you while you were sleeping. They decided you would go to the older James, than the younger, and then back again. You don’t understand why they need you, wrapped up as they are in each other. There is just enough room in their souls for one extra James, and no room for you. Whose idea was this, anyway? You want a goddamn refund.

 

 _xxiii_. Let’s say God is a sharp, severe woman, and let’s say the devil is two men with blond hair and broad shoulders named James. There’s an angel and a demon too—a dark-skinned woman with beautiful curls, and a pale bespectacled man. You can’t tell which one is the angel and which one is the demon, but you’ve finally realized that it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. They say you can go big or you can go home, and when the struggle is on such a cosmic scale, it might be better to go home.

 

 _xxiv_. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy and he says he loves you, but he doesn’t. He never has. He loves a boy called James and a woman called God, loves them so much he’s going to go up in smoke and flames. You want to tell him you love him, because it’s what you’ve always done, but instead you open the door and jump, rolling head over heels until the world stops spinning. Stand up. Wipe the dust from your dress. Stare at the sky, a deep midnight blue.  
When you look back at the road, there’s not a James in sight.


End file.
